"Heat transfers from hot to cold," Alex whispered, rubbing his temples. "Entropy always increases."

"Unless you are Arsenal," a voice said. "Then entropy decreases. You are becoming very organized."

Alex looked up.

Maya was sitting across from him. She was wearing a oversized wool sweater and reading a book about black holes.

"Hi, Maya," Alex smiled. "I am trying to understand engines. Not the football kind."

"It is the same principle," Maya said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Efficiency. Input versus output. You run 12 kilometers, you output one goal. Efficient."

"I didn't score on Wednesday," Alex said. "I hit the post."

"Variance," Maya shrugged. "Statistically, you were due a miss. It keeps you humble."

Alex laughed. He liked Maya. She treated him like a data point, not a celebrity.

"Are you coming tomorrow?" Alex asked. "Newcastle. At home."

"I have tickets," Maya said. "My dad shouts at the TV. I want to see if he shouts louder in real life. Also... I want to calculate the decibel level of Mark's screaming."

"It is very high," Alex warned. "Bring earplugs."

Maya smiled. It was a small, secret smile.

"Good luck, Professor. Don't let the entropy win."

Alex walked out of the school gates.

He heard a buzzing sound. Like a giant, angry mosquito.

He looked up.

A black drone was hovering ten feet above his head. It had a camera pointing right at him.

"TARGET ACQUIRED!" a voice yelled from a car window.

Mark was leaning out of the black SUV. He was holding a remote control. He was wearing... aviator sunglasses.

"Mark," Alex sighed. "Are you spying on me?"

"I am the Eye in the Sky!" Mark shouted. "Milo got me a drone! We are filming a documentary! 'The Life of Speed'!"

"Watch out for the..."

CRUNCH.

The drone flew straight into a oak tree. It fell to the ground in pieces.

Mark stared at the broken plastic.

"Mayday," Mark whispered. "Mayday."

Alex climbed into the car. "Drive, Maverick. Before the caretaker sees you."

The training ground was tense.

The Suit—the man from the ownership group—was back.

He was standing on the balcony, looking down at the pitch like a vulture.

Steve, the manager, gathered the team.

"Newcastle," Steve said. "Tomorrow. 12:30 Kickoff."

The team groaned. The early kickoff. It messed up the rhythm. No pasta for breakfast. Just porridge and adrenaline.

"They are big," Steve said. "They are strong. They are physical. Joelinton. Guimaraes. Burn. They are giants."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. They will try to bully you. They will try to turn the game into a wrestling match. If we fight them... we lose. We are not wrestlers."

He looked at Jude.

"Except you, Power. You can wrestle."

Jude grinned. "I like wrestling."

"For the rest of you," Steve said. "The plan is... 'The Hot Potato'."

"Hot Potato?" Antoine asked, looking elegant in his training kit. "Is this a cooking show?"

"No," Steve said. "It means... nobody keeps the ball for more than two seconds. Touch. Pass. Touch. Pass. If you hold it... they hit you. If you move it... they hit the air."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. You must be always moving. Never stand still. If you stand still, Dan Burn will step on you. And he is very heavy."

Mark's eyes went wide. "I will be a hummingbird! I will never land!"

Saturday. The Emirates Stadium.

It was a crisp, cold London afternoon. The sun was bright.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

He looked at the Newcastle players. Steve was right. They were huge. Dan Burn, their defender, looked like he needed to duck to fit through the doorway.

Bruno Guimaraes, their captain, looked at Alex.

"Golden Boy," Bruno grunted. "Ready to get muddy?"

"The grass is dry today, Bruno," Alex smiled.

"We will make it muddy," Bruno said.

They walked out. The roar of the crowd washed over them.

Alex looked up at the stands. He saw his parents.

And, a few rows back, he saw a girl with curly hair and glasses. She was holding a notebook.

Maya.

Alex felt a surge of energy. He tightened his laces.

The whistle blew.

Newcastle didn't wait. They crashed into Arsenal.

It was physical. Very physical.

Jude got the ball. Joelinton smashed into him. Two tanks colliding. The ground shook.

"Play on!" the referee yelled.

Alex got the ball.

He remembered the plan. Hot Potato.

He didn't trap it. He flicked it. First time.

To Antoine.

Antoine flicked it to Mark.

Mark ran.

But Dan Burn was there. He used his long legs to hook the ball away.

"He is an octopus!" Mark yelled. "He has too many legs!"

The first half was a struggle. Newcastle closed the space. They made the pitch small.

Arsenal couldn't find their rhythm. The "Hot Potato" was too hot. Passes were going astray.

In the 40th minute, Newcastle scored.

A corner. A scramble. A big boot.

One zero.

The away fans went wild. They took their shirts off, even though it was freezing.

Alex stood in the center circle. He looked at the Suit in the directors' box. The Suit was checking his watch.

This was bad.

Halftime. One zero.

The locker room was loud. Not happy loud. Angry loud.

"They are kicking us!" Mark shouted. "The referee is blind!"

"Focus!" Steve roared. The room went quiet.

"Forget the referee. Forget the bruises. Focus on the ball."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are playing too fast. You are panicking. 'Hot Potato' does not mean 'Panic Potato'."

Alex nodded. He was rushing.

"Slow down your mind," Steve said. "Speed up your feet. You need a rhythm. Tick. Tock. Not Ticktockticktock."

He looked at Jude.

"Jude. Stop wrestling. You are winning the fights, but we are losing the ball. Use their aggression against them."

"How?" Jude asked.

"When they charge at you... roll them," Steve said. "Use their weight. Spin. Turn defense into attack."

Steve looked at Antoine.

"Magician. We need a spell. Just one."

"I have a spell," Antoine said, fixing his headband. "But I need the ball."

Second half.

Arsenal came out calm.

Alex took a deep breath. He looked at Maya in the stands. She was writing in her notebook. Probably calculating the probability of a comeback.

Let's increase the probability.

Alex got the ball.

Bruno Guimaraes charged at him.

Alex didn't flick it blindly.

He waited. One beat.

Then he passed. A crisp, ground pass to Jude.

Jude received it. Joelinton came to smash him.

Jude didn't fight back. He spun.

He used Joelinton's momentum. He rolled around him like a revolving door.

The crowd gasped. Jude was free.

He drove forward.

The Newcastle defense stepped up.

Jude passed to Antoine.

Antoine was on the edge of the box.

He didn't shoot. He didn't pass.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball. He stood completely still.

The Newcastle defenders froze. They didn't know what to do.

Then, Antoine chipped it.

A tiny, delicate chip over the defensive line.

Mark was there. The Hummingbird.

He had been moving constantly. Left, right, left.

He ran onto the chip.

He didn't let it bounce.

He headed it.

Over the keeper.

GOAL!

One one.

The Emirates erupted.

Mark ran to the corner. He flapped his arms like wings.

"I AM A BIRD!" Mark screamed. "I AM FLYING!"

Alex ran over. "Good flight, Speed."

The game was tied. But a draw wasn't enough. The Suit needed a win.

Newcastle was tired. Chasing the ball is harder than kicking it.

75th minute.

Alex was controlling the tempo. Tick. Tock.

He was the metronome.

He saw Newcastle getting narrow. They were protecting the middle.

Alex looked wide.

Ben White, the right-back, was making a run.

Alex hit a diagonal pass. Perfect.

Ben White controlled it. He crossed.

It was cleared.

But only to the edge of the box.

To Jude.

Jude chest-controlled it. He wound up for a volley.

The Newcastle defenders threw themselves in front of him. A wall of bodies.

Jude didn't shoot.

He faked.

The defenders slid past him.

Jude passed the ball sideways.

To Alex.

Alex was twenty yards out. Central.

No one was near him.

"SHOOT!" the crowd screamed.

Alex looked at the goal. He saw the keeper's position.

He remembered the physics.

Force. Mass. Velocity.

He ran up.

He hit it.

He didn't curl it. He didn't chip it.

He hit it "straight as an arrow".

The ball didn't rotate. It flew like a bullet.

It hit the top corner.

THWACK.

The sound of the net snapping was the best sound in the world.

GOAL.

Two one. Arsenal.

Alex stood there. He raised both arms.

The Professor had solved the equation.

Jude picked him up. Antoine jumped on his back. Mark hugged his legs.

The Diamond.

The last ten minutes were a blur of defending.

Alex made tackles. He made blocks. He was stable.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Newcastle 1.

They had survived the physical battle.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was limping slightly.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing... a general's uniform. With medals.

"VICTORY!" Milo saluted. "THE BATTLE IS WON! ALEX! THE GOAL! I AM CALLING IT 'THE CANNONBALL'! WE WILL SELL T-SHIRTS WITH CANNONS!"

"Arsenal already has a cannon on the badge, Milo," Alex smiled.

"THEN WE SELL BIGGER CANNONS!"

Alex walked into the locker room.

The team was happy. They were safe for another week.

Steve walked in. He looked at Alex.

"Good rhythm, Professor," Steve said. "You controlled the chaos."

"Just doing the math, boss," Alex said.

He showered and changed.

He walked out of the stadium.

Mark was waiting by the "War Machine" truck (Milo had rented it again).

But Alex saw someone else waiting near the players' exit.

Maya.

She was holding her notebook. She looked small next to the giant stadium pillars.

Alex walked over to her.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Maya said. She pushed her glasses up. "I calculated the velocity of your goal."

"And?"

"Ninety-six kilometers per hour," she said. "Very efficient."

"Thanks," Alex smiled.

"And Mark's celebration..." she checked her notes. "Aerodynamically unsound. Hummingbirds beat their wings fifty times a second. Mark managed three."

Alex laughed. "I will tell him to work on his frequency."

"You played well, Alex," Maya said softly. "You looked... in control."

"I try to be," Alex said.

There was a moment of silence. A nice silence.

"Do you... do you want a lift?" Alex asked, pointing to the giant military truck. "Mark is driving. It is an experience."

Maya looked at the truck. She looked at Mark, who was honking the lion horn at a pigeon.

"Is it safe?" she asked.

"Statistically?" Alex grinned. "No. But it is fun."

Maya smiled. "Okay. I like variables."

They walked to the truck.

Alex helped her climb up.

Mark turned around. He saw Maya.

"Who is this?" Mark asked. "Is she a spy?"

"This is Maya," Alex said. "She is a genius. She knows math."

Mark's eyes widened. "Can she calculate how fast I am?"

"I can try," Maya said, buckling her seatbelt.

"DRIVE, SPEED!" Alex yelled.

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